


Visitor

by yeaka



Series: Yutopian Zoo [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Animal Ears, Animal Traits, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 13:06:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12631662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Yuuri’s not fond of the zoo’s patrons. Then Victor stops by.





	Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is set in the same partial-animal AU as some of my other ficlets, but it’s stand-alone and you don’t need to read them for this.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Yuri on Ice or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The enclosure only includes one artificial, shallow cave, and the other two Japanese serows are almost always there, the stench from their scent glands all over the walls despite the zoo’s rules about marking. Yuuri understands why they do it—he _longs_ for his own territory too, but not enough to hop the tall fences and bolt for the gate. So he mostly wanders the sparse forestry, focused in equal parts on finding food and hiding from patrons. The saving grace is that _human_ -humans don’t seem to find serows particularly interesting amongst the zoo’s many other attractions, whether the animal- kind or Yuuri’s partial-human kind. It’s for the best. He feels self-conscious when he lifts up to pluck a thick leaf off a low-hanging branch, stuffing it swiftly into his mouth. It crinkles under his teeth and stretches across his tongue, sweet and juicy. 

When he’s finished that, he strolls between the towering stocks in search of another one, bare feet picking through the dirt and neatly trimmed underbrush. He misses the soft caress of _snow_ , but he tries not to think of that.

He chooses another leaf and leans in to pluck this one free with his teeth, but he’s only just bitten into the tip when a sharp whistle jolts him up. His furred ears twitch atop his head, body going taut and legs tensing, ready to stomp. He _knows_ he isn’t supposed to face off against patrons. But it feels like they’re _in his territory_ , and he wishes they’d just leave him alone.

Except the man who whistled isn’t any of the regulars, and as soon as Yuuri’s made eye contact, his body’s going numb. Even through the blur of the evening air, he gets a clear picture of the most gorgeous human Yuuri’s ever seen—and that means something, as Yuuri’s never even remotely liked the look of any of them at all.

This one smiles at Yuuri, not the condescending sort of ogling he’s used to, but genuine and welcoming. The man calls something in garbled Japanese, and it takes Yuuri a second to realize the man’s said: _hello_. He hasn’t heard any true Japanese since he came here—even the other serows talk in their borrowed English, and Yuuri’s tried to adapt.

He takes a few steps forward before he can stop himself, and then he’s tottering down the gentle slope towards the fence, which the man is leaning over. He’s tall and thin, dressed in a tight-fitting jacket and the strangely textured denim jeans that some of the handlers wear on their days off. He has a curtain of perfectly silver hair brushed over to one side, and it glimmers in the low park lights like freshly fallen snow. As Yuuri stumbles towards him, pulled as if by a dream, the man tries, “ _Hello, serow. How are you today?_ ” It’s so distinctly _off_ that Yuuri almost laughs, but he’s delighted too—a patron’s never spoken to him before. He didn’t think the zoo’s visitors even knew that he _could_ speak.

Because the man’s so alluring and smiling so beautifully, Yuuri offers, “I know... some English?” It comes out like a question, and he can feel his cheeks flushing already—he’s out of practice with words. 

The man’s eyes widen anyway, his mouth forming a surprised little ‘o,’ and then he grins broadly again and chirps, “Wonderful! I’m more fluent in that.” In English, his accent is more distinct—European, Yuuri thinks, maybe Russian. There are no serows there, Yuuri thinks, not like him, but there are some other animals in the zoo from Slavic regions—like a feisty tiger that’s proudly boasted of his motherland’s gleaming mountains and rugged wilderness. Not that Yuuri listens much to what fanged carnivores shout across the exhibits. 

The man gestures a little closer, and Yuuri comes, stopping just an arm’s length away from the enclosure. This man doesn’t _look_ like the sort who will pelt him with popcorn kernels or tug at his horns, but it’s always good to be careful. The man only extends one hand over the fence, vertical and open—it takes Yuuri a second to realize what he’s supposed to do with it.

He wraps his fingers tentatively around the long digits and lets the man shake his palm, like humans do when they’re meeting other humans. It almost makes Yuuri wonder if the man can see his ears and horns and the fuzzy tail peeking out of the small hole in his black coverall. “It’s nice to meet you,” the man offers. “I’m Victor. What’s your name?”

Red to the tips of his grey ears, Yuuri admits, “Yuuri.” He’s never been _introduced_ to a human before. Even the handlers just herd him about like the four-legged serows. When Victor retracts his hand, Yuuri finds he misses the warmth of it, even though Yuuri’s never been one to chase heat. 

“I’m a figure skater,” Victor explains without any more explanation. Yuuri just blinks at him, trying to combine the words ‘figure’ and ‘skater’ and decipher what that means. Suddenly Victor’s upbeat expression falters, and he tells Yuuri rather gravely, “I _was_ one of the best. But inspiration...” he trails off, only to rebound a second later: “My coach suggested I look for some natural examples of grace. The lady at the front told me serows can be quite graceful. Are you?”

“What?” Yuuri splutters, before immediately deciding, “No. I mean, I’m not really, and my eyesight isn’t very good—” If anything, he’s clumsy, and he’s sure he’s heard the handlers say that about all his kind—although, then he does think, “Um, perhaps... maybe in the mountains...” Because _those_ he can leap through with ease, racing up sheer cliffs with surety and stamina to out match any predators—at least, until humans developed guns. Except there are no mountains in the exhibit. 

Victor hums, “Hm,” and thrusts his arm over the fence again. This time he reaches back behind Yuuri’s ear, and Yuuri steps closer to help, letting the dull fingertips graze back through his dark hair. It makes him shiver happily. He’s a solitary thing, but when he avoids the others, and the handlers, and the patrons, and there’s no one else...

Victor idly pets him and asks, “Do you like it here?”

That’s a loaded question. He knows what he’s _supposed_ to say, though he was never briefed—the staff seem to assume no one would ever ask an animal that, even one with a human face. For Victor, because Victor’s being strangely nice to him and breaking down his guards by rubbing him _just right_ , he mumbles, “It’s... okay. It’s too warm, and... I miss some things... snow, space, hills and real shelter... but they take care of me, and I can sleep without worrying about hunters...” Victor nods indulgently, but Yuuri doesn’t have any more to say. He lets his eyes shut instead, turning to concentrate on the softness of Victor’s palm, which he nuzzles happily into—Victor smells _good_.

Victor answers, “I love the cold and mountains. Have you ever been on the ice?”

Yuuri shakes his head, because he doesn’t know—maybe as a child—but he thinks he’d probably slip to his own death on it. Victor chuckles. 

Then he wrenches his hand away, sudden enough that Yuuri’s eyes snap open. One sniff of the air tells him what happened, and he can see the sticky mess on Victor’s fingers. Victor looks bewildered. 

Yuuri... practically trembles with shame. He’s _never_ done that before. It doesn’t even make sense. Victor’s not a tree, not something to secrete all over and mark with his scent, and it’s not even a proper mating thing to do—except Victor made him dizzy for a moment, and he wasn’t thinking—he stutters, “I-I’m sorry, I don’t—I can’t—” There’s no explanation to offer.

But Victor laughs and starts whipping it off on his pants, announcing: “I guess I better go wash up.” Yuuri’s ears twitch in distress. He doesn’t know what to do. _He doesn’t want Victor to go._

With a dazzling smile, Victor promises, “I’ll come back sometime, okay?” And he leans right over the fence, coming in to peck Yuuri’s cheek, which seems to blaze under the touch like a beacon for an incoming rut. Yuuri just stands there, shaking.

And when Victor’s retreated, off towards the zoo’s washroom facilities, Yuuri sinks to the floor of his enclosure, tentatively touching his cheek and wondering about the taste of _other things._


End file.
